Outcasts (30 page)

I had to laugh at her bravery. Impressive girl. “You lost to that shrimp in a mask? Weak, homie. Weak.”

He glowered. A new noise caught our attention. A song. Someone was singing. A raspy lullaby, walking down the brick staircase from the parking lot beyond, drawing closer to the sand.

I knew that rasp. I knew that smell. The tang of gasoline. The cheerleader was here. She’d attacked me three months ago. Set herself
on fire
and burned me. Badly. It would have killed an ordinary man. My skin came off in sheets.

Fear. Fear uncontrollable, like a wintery blast took hold of my heart. She was an alien. A freak. A demon. She’d caused so much pain. So strong. So loud in my ear. Even my tongue had caught fire.

Nobody moved. Except the cheerleader. She kept trilling as she kicked off her shoes and undressed. She shimmied out of her white pants. Folded them carefully, delicately, and handed them to one of the ghosts. “I don’t want to ruin these.”

My heart thundered. Couldn’t speak.

She was about to pull her shirt off when she noticed Katie. Her song stopped. “Katie.”

Katie was crying. Always thought she was cute when she cried. “Hello Hannah.” She tried to smile. “Hannah Walker. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m here to rescue you, Katie.”

“Why?”

“The Father needs you. And the giant won’t let you go. And we’re friends.”

“He’s lying to you, Hannah. Sweet Hannah. He’s not your father.”

The cheerleader tilted her head quizzically, but just for a moment. “Come away, Katie. There’s going to be a fire.”

Katie’s voice came out in a sob. “No. No please.”

The black man started shaking a can. Slowly. A half gallon metal can. I knew the type. Came from a hardware store and contained a pre-mixed solution of gasoline and oil. The oil made it burn hotter and longer. Back and forth, he shook it, and then twisted off the cap.

“No!” Katie said again. She stood up. “I’ll go with you.”

“Katie. Get behind me.” The words were a struggle.

“Tank.” She put her hands on my chest and pushed. I didn’t move. She wept in frustration. “We can’t run…you’re too weak. And we can’t fight. There’s too many. They’ll electrocute you and then burn you to death. So…I’ll go.”

“No.”

“Yes! They’ll abduct me either way. This way…this way you get to live. And two of the Chemist’s messengers said I won’t be hurt.”

“You won’t be,” the cheerleader said. She bounced on her toes. “You’re going to help us.”

“I’m going. With them.”

“Katie…” I started to cry too. The humiliation, the pain, it was almost worth dying over.

“Tank, you need to stay alive. So you can come get me.” She wiped her eyes with her fingers.

“I will. I swear I will.”

She turned and glared at the black man. “You won’t hurt Tank.”

He nodded. “The Father wants him alive, if possible.”

“And you won’t kill me.”

“Little girl, if I killed you, he would legit skin me. Alive. No I ain’t gonna hurt you. And he won’t neither. He ain’t like that. Mostly.”

Katie took a hesitant step towards Hannah. Hannah opened her arms and smiled. A pretty smile, if bizarre. Ghastly. The cheerleader didn’t understand all this. She was a six-year old child playing with friends in the sand. The higher machinations eluded her.

“Katie…” I said.

“I know,” she replied. “I
know
. But neither of us are supposed to die on this beach. We sacrifice here and now, and our stories continue. Let me go, and live.”

She went. Hannah embraced her and the two girls ascended the stairs, holding hands. One final look at me.

The black man stayed, glaring, ready to subdue all my stupid and violent notions. But I had none. I was exhausted from standing. Behind me, two of his goons touched their electric rods together. Pure energy sparked, a brilliant connection, spitting white flares.

Katie disappeared beyond the palms, and the black man struck. So fast, too dark. I couldn’t dodge. He hit me in the face with something, temporarily dislocating my jaw. Bright spots and flashes roared in my vision like jelly fish. I dropped to a knee, strength soaking into the sand like water. I had nothing left.

“You follow me,” the man hissed in my ear, “and I’ll make you swallow one of these electroshock cattle prods.”

As silently as they arrived the ghosts departed, taking their stink with them. I felt the black man leave, like a change in the silence, and the air tasted less tainted.

Katie went with them. Gone. Into the hands of a madman.

And I stayed on one knee. A failure. In every sense imaginable.

Russia flew like a wizard. He prevented Carter’s Huey from spiraling out of control despite shredded rotors, and crash landed on 1st Street, not far from Natalie North’s old building. The landing gear struck hard, a shower of sparks, but Russia kept the fuel tanks intact and prevented an inferno.

I arrived ahead of the horde but just barely. We had mere minutes before massacre. Samantha was there already, scanning rooftops and windows with her rifle in a state of perpetual rotation. Windows everywhere.

The sun was almost up, fingers of pale light streaming overhead. It’d be so cool if Chosen were vampires about to be vaporized by the dawn. No such luck.

“Outlaw!” she cried. “Russia’s safety harness is jammed. And…” Her face paled and the barrel of her weapon lowered. “Damn, what the hell happened to you?”

“I got careless.”

“You got cut in half.”

“No sweat. It doesn’t look as bad as it feels.” I ducked under the spinning and mangled rotor blades and ripped off Russia’s harness using only my right hand. My left could no longer make a fist. Fabric and metal surrendered, and he spilled out, his face a mess of minor cuts.

Russia was a barrel-chested grizzly bear of a man, bulky but lithe. “You look bad,” he barked in brusque syllables.

“You don’t like the new mask?”

“I am in your debt. Thank you for rescue.”

“Help me with Carter,” I said, sliding the gunner bay door back on its busted track.

“Or.” He pulled his pistol out and chambered a round. “Or leave Carter. We make escape.”

Samantha ceased her vigilance. Briefly. She glanced between us, weighing this new idea. Leave Carter. He was injured. He’d slow us down. And he’d almost certainly leave us to die if the situation was reversed.

Infected are monsters. No honor. No loyalty. Lone wolves living solely on survival instincts. I despised them all in that instant. Despised myself.

Samantha shook her head. “Forget it, Russia. Chase would die first.”

“I couldn’t get far anyway.” I shrugged and nearly passed out from pain. “I’ve lost too much blood. Just need an open grave to fall into.”

Samantha said, “What’s your plan?”

“I know a nearby place to hide. But you’ll need to be a diversion.”

“I’m diverting as heck.” She slung the rifle over her shoulder and pulled out two pistols. She grinned in delight, death with an appetite for danger. “What do you need?”

“Puck, where are the inbound hostiles?”

Puck responded in all our ears. “Moving hard from the south. Hundreds. PuckDaddy is so scared.”

“Samantha, get their attention. Draw them after you. Head east. We only need five minutes. Stay alive. Then lose them, and I’ll talk you to our hideout.”

“Roger that, Outlaw.” She was already bounding away, the only one of us moving without injury. She let loose a war cry, an ear-piercing paroxysm, the disease finally allowed to vent.

I grabbed Carter by his jacket and hauled, sliding him out like a heavy slab of beef. He landed on one foot, woozy, bleeding from his head.

“What happened to you?”

“Broken femur, kid,” he moaned. “Busted skull.”

“I wanted to leave you,” I said. “Russia wouldn’t hear of it.”

“I heard your discussion. Ears work fine. Russia’s right. You shoulda left me.”

“We gotta move. Now.”

Carter leaned on me for support, absolute torture, and we started hopping west. With one functional leg, he moved at a pace reached by a normal human jogging.

“Russia, we need to reach my hideout unobserved.”

“I understand.” The big man flourished his pistol. He wouldn’t miss.

After two blocks of painfully slow progress and Carter’s grunting, Puck reported, “Wow, their entire army is after Shooter.”

“I bet she leads a merry chase.”

Her voice came howling through our ear pieces. “SHUT UP, Outlaw! Puck, which way??!”

“Oh jeez, uh, south. No, east. Either way. But you better speed up.”

“Uuuuugh. I’m not a runner. Or a leaper. This sucks!! Not as much fun as it sounded!”

Carter, Russia and I arrived at our destination without incident. A large storage unit warehouse, three stories high. Pitch black, it looked vacant and haunted.

I was sucking wind and light-headed. The wounds were open, leaking blood and energy. Bright bursts like snowflakes filled my mind. I gulped down a lungful of oxygen and detected a new scent, rich and earthen like rotten fruit.

I knew that scent…from…

Russia clicked on a flashlight and aimed the piercing cone of light into the dark metal maze. We weren’t alone. A powerful tiger stalked from the corridor, heavy head directed at us, baring his canines. His yellow eyes blinked at the flashlight, which Russia nearly dropped.

He said something in Russian and raised his pistol.

“No,” Carter snapped wearily. His face was white with fatigue and fear. “Look at that bastard. You’ll just piss him off. We’d need an elephant gun.”

“You have better idea?” he asked. His voice shook and he shuffled backwards.

The alpha predator advanced. The finest killer Mother Nature could manufacture, further enhanced by human malice. His pelage showed signs of filth and emitted a stench. Not enough bodies of water nearby to wash. And he was hungry.

I angled my head towards Russia without taking eyes off the beast. “Get behind me.”

“Yes. He eats you first.”

I had a can of tiger spray in my pocket. Put there by Lee for this exact impossible occurrence. Fill his angry eyes with poison. Don’t confuse the bottles! The animal crouched six feet from us, loading his hind legs with weight and gathering forelimbs underneath. There would be a leap, claws, teeth, and ripping and blood.

My hand didn’t work. I didn’t dare release the Boom Stick with my right, but my left hand fumbled at the pocket. No luck. Fingers slippery and unresponsive. Like trying to pick a lock with noodles.

The tiger tensed and roared.

I roared back.

I became an explosion of sound. Carter flinched so violently at the noise he fell over, and the tiger locked eyes with me. Our wills collided like planets. Biological forces surging. Our shared disease forged a bridge of understanding, subterranean communication.

I held the stick straight out, near his nose.
We are not prey.

Yes
, he answered.
Yes. Prey. And enemy.

We are not.

Invader. Hate. Hunger.

Find easier prey. You will be injured.

…no.

Yes.

A collision of Kings of the Jungle. I wasn’t backing down. His stance shifted, subtle but noticeable. From offensive to defensive. From fury to wary. His ears flattened, pupils dilated. I pointed down the street with the rod. “Go.”

He snarled and released a series of coughs. His muscles shivered. I raised the rod, ready to strike. Poised, both. We waited.

Go
.

Survival instincts won out. He couldn’t be sure of victory. He turned with a woof and padded down the sidewalk towards Grand.

“Tiger is scary,” Russia whispered, his breath hot on my neck. “Outlaw is terrifying.”

“You need to teach me that trick, boy,” Carter said as we hauled him to his feet.

“Let’s get inside. In case he changes his mind.” I was soaked in sweat and fear and adrenaline, a great stone sitting heavy in my stomach.

We entered the haunted labyrinth. And its miasma. The outer storage units had been pried open, their contents ransacked. The deeper we penetrated, the more subdued the surrounding world became. Our wheezes and shuffles echoed through the metal hallway.

At the very back we reached my unit. Natalie North bought this place for me about a year ago. I hadn’t visited since last summer. I release the lock and raised the door, which rolled loudly into the ceiling. The hideout was undisturbed. It contained a bed, a desk, lockers of supplies, a refrigerator, a television and other necessities.

Carter eyed me with respect. “Look at you, hero. Boy got secrets.”

“Everyone in.”

Carter hopped to the bed and collapsed. Russia unsuccessfully tried the lamp, but found a functional battery-powered lantern. I rolled the door down.

I spoke into my mouthpiece, “Okay, Samantha. Time to come home. Ready for directions?”

“No,” she panted. Her breaths came in blasts, distorting the sound. “I’m too far. Too tired. Completely gassed.”

“What’s your plan?”

“I’m not…not sure yet.”

“PuckDaddy has a plan!”

“Go ahead, Puck. I’m all ears.”

“Keep going east. You’re near the boundary. I’ll alert the military barricade. Maybe someone there will be manning machine guns.”

“Sounds good,” she puffed. “On the way.”

I sat on the chair, my whole body on fire, listening helplessly. Run Samantha. Run faster.

“That’s not the best part. Oh man, PuckDaddy is a genius!” he chortled.

“What’s the best part?”

“Your ride is almost there.”

“My ride?!”

Through her microphone we heard the pop of weapons. One machine gun. Maybe two.

“Barricade dead ahead! They’re shooting at
me
!”

“I told them not to shoot the hot girl!”

“Tell them AGAIN!”

I closed my eyes and prayed. Get out of there. Dear God, get her out of there. Russia and Carter were also silent, listening to the same drama. I wish it was me, not her.

“Okay, I’m past the barricade. They’re still coming. What kind of ride am I looking for?” Samantha wheezed.

“Richard Jackson’s squad car.”